Brief Respite.

It's been exactly one week since the SRC elections, and one week since I lost out on the post of Deputy President. For some reason, though, it feels like it was much longer ago than that. I guess a lot has happened over these past seven days.

After election day, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my chest. I'd spent a week and a half campaigning with my team - staying back after class and coming to campus on the weekend to make and hang up banners and posters, giving political speeches, chatting people up - basically, putting all our energy into making sure we won the election.

As it turned out, half of the four election candidates on my team got elected to their posts, so I guess you could say it was worth our trouble. After my initial disappointment at losing, I soon realized that there were other ways to contribute to the MIU community even without being in a leadership position. I was at peace.

Returning to my hometown that weekend helped too. I hadn't gone home in three weeks (I usually do so every fortnight), and the warm, familiar surroundings of Ampang were a welcome relief from my recent dip into the dark pool of politics. Running for deputy president of the SRC had consumed me so much that I had been unable to focus on anything else, including my studies. Going home was, as always, like pressing a reset button - it helped me to temporarily clear my head of all the negativity that the outside world insists on feeding it.

I feel a lot better now - mentally and emotionally. Can't say there's too much difference here physically, though, since my hectic schedule forces me to miss lunch most days. Not playing any football at all doesn't help, either. But at least I can concentrate better on my studies, which is just as well since I have some assignments that need doing. I've also had to sit for four different midterms since last week, with another one possibly coming up next week.

This semester has been a heck of a ride so far, but there's still more to come. Even if I were to put aside the tests and assignments, there's still a major event coming up in the first week of December that I have to help coordinate. Things aren't really looking like letting up any time soon.

Well, at least I have the here and now. This brief respite from the drama of life in MIU is what enabled me to write this blog post, and I am thankful for that. Who knows when I would have found time to do so had I actually won that election. 

Into the Storm.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I was the Secretary of my university's Student Representative Council for the 2013/14 session. Regular readers may also know that I did not enjoy it, and may have guessed that I'd had enough of it and would not be running again so I could focus on other things.

Well, that guess would be partly true. I had had enough of it, but I am, in fact, running again - this time for Deputy President.

I might be a fool for jumping straight back into the storm after having only recently escaped it, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. A real opportunity for change at MIU is afoot, and I want in.

The SRC this time around will be different from the previous versions, and not just because the  rules and structure have been completely revamped. Out of the ten people who formed the last SRC, I'm the only one vying for any position this time around.

The election this year will be different as well - the candidates will be campaigning, just like how it's done at other universities. Personally speaking, I hate marketing myself, and, naturally, I'm dreading all the self-promotion I'll potentially have to be doing.

Of course, I wouldn't have to do any campaigning if I happened to be the only candidate contesting the position, like last time. This time, though, I'm up against the guy who was the first-ever president of the SRC. From what I've heard, he seems likely to provide some tough competition. Still, at least I only have one rival - there must be three or four candidates running for each one of President, Secretary and Treasurer.

Well, another semester, another challenge. All these extra activities I'm doing may mean that I'm constantly distracted from my studies (I'm taking six subjects this semester, too), but to be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm no bookworm - I can't sit around and do nothing but study for four months.

I still hope I can get back to getting a perfect GPA again, though, in spite of everything. This is looking to be yet another long, hard semester - albeit an interesting one.

The Move.

It's been three weeks since the new semester started, and things haven't been too bad. My friends who'd been on holiday during the last semester came back, I did some volunteer work at a kindergarten sports day, and my results turned out slightly better than I had expected. All in all, it's been a bright-ish start to the last semester of my second year.

The biggest thing that's happened to me recently, though, would probably be my moving into a new house with new housemates. What I mean by this being the biggest thing is that this is the event that looks to have the biggest impact on my life from now on.

I'd previously been renting a two-storey terrace house with some friends since early last year. We've been pretty much the same core group since then, give or take a few exits and new arrivals, and I appreciated that this arrangement gave me an element of stability that I otherwise lacked in almost every other aspect of my Manipal life. No matter what subjects I'd be studying, who I'd be having classes with, which people I'd be talking to on any given day, I always knew that in the end I'd still be going home to the same house, and with the same people. It was like having a second family.

Eventually, however, the non-Muslims in my house told us Muslims that they wanted to move out as they wanted to cook and eat pork. This was because they respected that we didn't eat pork, and would feel guilty about preparing it and eating it in our presence. Given this explanation, I figured that since they respected that we didn't eat pork, it would only be fair if we respected the fact that they did eat pork and accepted that they wanted to move out so they could cook it.

I initially felt a bit sad about the whole thing. I mean, we'd been living peacefully and somewhat blissfully for over a year, paying decent rent for a fairly comfortable house - and they wanted to do away with that just because they wanted to eat pork?

I guessed that they could afford to move out; after all, they were all still going to be together. The only difference would be that they could now eat pork, drink alcohol, adopt a dog, and even get faster internet - it was a definite win for them, even though they would likely have to pay more for rent.

That's just life, I guess. These things happen, and that's okay. We're all still friends, and I bear no grudge against them. Instead, I chose to see it as an opportunity for change.

I've moved into an apartment with a couple of friends (who happen to be Pakistani brothers from Saudi Arabia), and I have to say the change in scenery is refreshing. I've only been here since Monday, and I'm still getting used to my new routines and surroundings. The guys are nice, and since there's a surau literally a stone's throw away, we often go there for congregational prayer. Life here's been good so far, and somewhat reminiscent of my time in Madinah earlier this year. 

(This isn't the first time I've lived in this area, though. I spent less than a week in a different unit under the Manipal hostel when I first came to Nilai before moving into the aforementioned two-storey house.)

This move has been the latest change of surroundings in my young life, and after having previously spent time in four primary schools, two secondary schools and one other tertiary education institute, I am confident that living here will be good for me.

Stability is fine and all, but the only way to learn new things is by doing new things. Don't shun change; embrace it.

Gestures.

I was at the airport yesterday to send off an old classmate from my Bukit Indah days. This was the third time this year that I've gone there to see off a friend who would be furthering his or her studies in a foreign country. I'll be going for a fourth time tomorrow.

First of all, let me just say that I'm genuinely happy for all my friends who've been given the opportunity to study overseas, and I sincerely hope they do well. Both my parents studied overseas, as well as numerous other adults that I've had the pleasure of knowing. People always say that studying abroad is a good experience, and I've often imagined what it would be like to do so.

There's something about going to a place that's not your own, or even close to your own, on your own. Every time I've gone to send someone off, I've asked them the same question: "How do you feel?"

Most of the time they're nervous. And that's completely understandable. I think it's just due to fear of the unknown, since they always end up just fine eventually. Maybe if I were to go on to study abroad someday, I'd understand.

Anyway, a thought occurred to me after this most recent trip to the airport. Why do I keep making these trips? I've actually lost count of how many I've made exactly, let alone how many people I've sent off. The first few times were great, but then, after a time, the whole thing just starts to lose its novelty. "Oh, some more friends are going," I'd think. And I'd go to send them off. I mean, why do I even bother?

But then I remember: it's a different person every time. It might be the umpteenth time I go to see someone off, but for the person getting seen off, it's the first time that he or she is leaving the country to go live and study in another one. It's huge for these guys, especially since they won't be coming back for a long, long time. And I guess it means a lot to them if their friends were there to say goodbye. These trips aren't about me - it's about them.

I'm a fan of gestures, and I think sending people off before they embark on the biggest adventure of their lives (so far) is as good a gesture as any. If I happen to be free, have a means of transport, and if the timing is convenient, I don't see why I shouldn't go send off someone I consider to be a friend. At the very least, it's a sign of my appreciation of our relationship, as well as a showing of my support for this latest venture.

With regards to the girl in the picture above, her sending-off was a bit different from any of my previous ones. I've known her for ten years, but throughout those ten years, we've never really been that close, despite being classmates for most of that period. We were on speaking terms, but that's about it. Never really chatted much.

I found out about her flight from one of her status updates on Facebook. It was the night before, so you could say it was pretty last-minute. I commented on it to wish her luck, and then I realized that everyone else commenting was doing the same. Pretty normal, you'd think, but I just felt that at least one person should be asking her when the flight was. In other words, I figured that no one would be going to see her off. Well, no one from school anyway. This girl was the top student from our school - as far as I knew, not even the ones who'd left in Form 4 for SBPs managed to match her SPM results - and no one was going to see her off? Granted, maybe her friends weren't free, but come on.

I got another friend to come along, and the look on her face when she first saw us in that departure hall...well, it was priceless. That look alone made the whole trip worth it.

It was the same look I'd seen so many times over these past few years. And it was this look that now reminds me why I drove to the airport all those times in the first place, and why I will continue to do so while I still can.

Blood is Thicker than Water.

After a tough semester, it's a relief to finally be on sem break for two weeks. Time just seemed to fly by over the past two to three months or so with it being a short semester and all, and all of a sudden it was already study week, followed by the final exams. I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't do too well for those, judging by how indifferent I've been feeling about my grades this past semester.

But that's all done now, and I've found myself looking forward to next semester as always. The university's business faculty, or the School of Management and Business (SOMB), is planning for a study trip to India in January, and these next few months will be spent raising RM50 000 to fund it. As part of the working committee, and being assistant project director to boot, it looks like I'll be playing a huge part in that. Next semester looks to be an extremely busy one for me, and even more so as I'll be taking six subjects, but at least I'll have that trip to look forward to as my reward.

Semester break has been going smoothly so far. I've been playing football, catching up on sleep, and basically enjoying not having any work to do. Most importantly, though, I went to two weddings with my grandmother and met a bunch of relatives I never even knew I had.

Growing up, I've only really known my family to consist of my siblings, parents, parents' parents, parents' siblings, and parents' siblings' children - plus several others outside that circle. I barely knew anyone else, and wasn't really interested in meeting any of my more obscure relatives.

Things change as you get older, of course. You start to come out of your shell, start taking an interest in the things and the people around you, and start realizing what's really important.

I've never really been a fan of weddings, especially if I know I won't know anyone there and vice versa. These two weddings were no different - but my attitude towards them this time around was. I decided that, instead of just sitting around moping and generally not wanting to be there, I'd just enjoy the ride. See the sights, eat the food, bother to actually make a mental note of how I was related to anyone I met - that kind of thing.

It worked a treat. I found the two weddings to be quite enjoyable - more enjoyable than past weddings anyway. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.

My grandmother had over a hundred first cousins and apparently knew all of them. The way she was chatting people up at the weddings and somehow being very up-to-date with the family goings-on was hugely impressive; even more so when you consider the fact that she doesn't use the internet or a smartphone. Kinda makes me wonder how much I'd care about maintaining familial relationships in the future, because right now I can't imagine myself driving for an hour through busy traffic just to visit some uncle or cousin. Which probably says something about the individual relationships I currently hold with my uncles and cousins.

Sometimes you get too immersed in your own life that you forget that you're not exactly the center of the universe. At times you just need to step back and look at the bigger picture, appreciating all the people in your life who, directly or indirectly, have helped you to make it as far as you have.

Fans of Disney movies may be familiar with this quote: "Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten." I think that's pretty deep, as it shows the role of a person's family as his or her unwavering support.

My siblings seemed pretty happy when I told them that I wouldn't be going back to Nilai for a while. I guess I should make the most of my time at home.

Dark Sides.

It takes a while to get to know a person. As in, really getting to know a person. This is true for both the better and the worse.

For instance, your first impression of a person might be that of a nice, friendly guy who always finds a way to keep a conversation going. This is a good thing, you think, because conversations with new people are often a bit awkward, and you don't like awkward. Over time, though, you may realize that this person constantly wants to keep a conversation going, won't stop talking, and ends up annoying the hell out of you.

On the other hand, you might meet someone for the first time and immediately decide that the guy isn't a person you would enjoy spending more than two minutes with. Over time, you may find more and more reasons to convince yourself that that initial impression was spot on. You start to pat yourself on the back due to your good judgement. Given even more time, though, you realize that this person that you dislike so much does, in fact, have a good side to him - he could be really loyal to his friends, for example.

Whatever your initial impression of a person is, it isn't something that you should really hang on to, because that first impression is most likely wrong. Don't judge a book by its cover, and all that.

Since I first arrived in Nilai, I've been subjected to numerous revelations - some left me pleasantly surprised, and others less so. I won't go into specifics - as literally anyone could be reading this - but I've learned through all these experiences to not take things at face value. Add in the fact that my people-reading abilities have improved dramatically over the past year or so, and it's actually quite depressing to find that most people are not who they seem to be at first, and I don't mean that in a good way.

Finding someone who turns out to be an even better person than you first thought they were, and keeps on surprising you by continuously proving that first impression wrong, is exceptionally rare. If I were to find a person like that, I would never want to let him or her go. It would be akin to finally winning the lottery after years of buying losing tickets.

Of course, that doesn't mean you should simply discard certain people in your life just because they have certain flaws. Nobody's perfect, not even you - so how is it fair that you expect others to be? If you truly value your relationship with someone, you find a way to make it work - flaws and all.

Personally, I just think that, in a world where greed, selfishness and other negative traits run rampant, why should I add to that number? Why should I be yet another losing ticket, bringing about even more misery and disappointment to a world that already carries more than enough of it?

"Be the change you wish to see in the world," said Mahatma Gandhi. Be a winning lottery ticket.

Of Raya and Inner Peace.

I was planning on sleeping early tonight. But then I got caught up in my video games, and then got the urge to write. And now here I am, writing in this blog.

'Eid was celebrated by Muslims all over the world last week, and some celebrated more than others. A friend in France spoke of having to go to class right after the morning 'Eid prayers. Here in Malaysia, there were still a lot of shops closed almost a whole week after 'Eid.

In Malaysia, 'Eid is commonly referred to as Raya. My immediate family isn't really big on Raya, as the fact that my grandparents on both my parents' sides live just nearby. Some people take the whole week off for Raya to visit far-off relatives; we were done in a single day, as the furthest we went to visit lived only about half an hour away.

Raya, for me, is not something I typically look forward to. First of all, it signifies the end of the fasting month of Ramadan. Back in the Prophet's day, people used to weep when Ramadan ended, as with it went all its blessings. In Malaysia, festive music can be heard everywhere, even during the early days of the fasting month.

Second of all, Raya means having to dress up in traditional costume, going to visit your friends and relatives, and eating the same food at every single house you visit. I don't remember looking forward to, and much less enjoying, going through a combination of those things on this particular day throughout my whole young life. I mean, I wear my baju melayu almost every Friday. We visit the same relatives we visit on Raya all the time, even when it's not Raya. And sometimes we even have Raya food when it's not Raya. So what makes doing all three of these things on the same day special?

So yeah, I'm basically not a Raya person.

However, this year I decided that things would be different. I wouldn't allow my negative feelings towards Raya and the things I would be doing on it affect me. I was going to enjoy the celebration. For once.

And I did. Sort of.

Instead of the usual baju melayu-and-jeans combination, I went for the full set, with songkok and kain samping and everything. Instead of just sitting around eating and watching TV at the various houses we visited, I made an effort to actually talk to my relatives (which was difficult and somewhat awkward due to the age gaps, but I guess it was fine). I also ate my fill of Raya food, instead of taking teeny tiny portions like I usually do.

Maybe I wouldn't have enjoyed Raya much this time around if it had lasted more than a day, which, thankfully, it didn't. I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to keep up my festive mood for that long. I'm basically never in a festive mood, so if it does come around I can't say I have too much practice with maintaining it.

One thing I learned from all this is that a celebration is only as good as you make it. The only way to enjoy something is to allow yourself to do so.

Realizing that I was my very own personal killjoy was, needless to say, a real eye-opener. Enjoying the things I do helps me to be happy, and being happy helps to give me inner peace. And really, there's not a whole lot a person could want more in this world besides inner peace.

There's too much turmoil in the world. We shouldn't have to let any of it seep into our heads.

Colleagues.

My university is starting an e-newsletter, and I've been selected as one of the members of the editorial board in charge of publishing it. It's quite an exciting prospect for me, although I believe I may soon find myself cursing it when I eventually (and inevitably) find my total workload to be too much of a burden (especially next semester, during which I've been told that I'll be taking six subjects).

This would actually be the first time that I've ever been involved with any sort of publication. It's not that I've never been interested - in fact, when I was a freshman back at Bukit Indah I harbored dreams of someday becoming the chief editor of the school yearbook - it's just that I just couldn't get the opportunity. Things like these were always monopolized by the seniors back in school, regardless of actual talent and ability, and to get involved with them you had to be friendly with these people. Being an introverted kid with no interest in mixing around with people outside my small social circle, it was virtually impossible for me to even get close to joining the school editorial board.

But I guess that's the difference between me while I was in school and me now, while I'm in university. I actually bother to mix around with people these days, and it just so happens that the type of people I get along with are the ones that get involved with the kind of activities that I enjoy, i.e. this editorial board and working committees for business faculty events.

I like being involved with organizing events. It's just that none of the events I've been working on up until now have been to my liking, and the same could be said with the people I worked with. Working with good people whom I knew and liked on a recent leadership workshop for MIU's Business students was a much better experience than any of the  four orientations I did with the Student Representative Council, which were, honestly, basically exercises in patience.

I know now the importance of getting along with the people you work with. When you walk into a meeting room or show up at the event site and not made to feel the slightest bit welcome by the people there, you're much less inclined to show dedication and commitment to your work.

It's fortunate, then, that I have good people working with me on the editorial board. Most of us were hand-picked by our lecturers, and if anyone is a good judge of how well students go about their work, it's their lecturers. At the very least, I won't have to worry about my colleagues being incompetent, immature or unprofessional...well, for the most part anyway.

P.S. As an aside, I should probably stop being bitter about what happened with the SRC. I'm partly to blame for not being mentally and emotionally strong enough to work in such an environment anyway. It was a good learning experience, if anything.

End of an Era.

I first started watching football in 2007, and my first international tournament was Euro 2008. I started out supporting Croatia for some reason (as an Arsenal fan, that was probably due to then-Arsenal striker Eduardo being in the squad). Spain was my second team as they had loads of brilliant players but never seemed to win anything (I later learned that they were European champions in 1964), and I had a thing for underachievers.

Image courtesy of www.croatia.org

Croatia (and their awesome uniforms) won all three of their group games, as did Spain, and I was a happy child. However, Croatia duly got knocked out in the next round, so I only had Spain left to bank on. Not a problem, as it turned out, as they then went on to win the tournament. Once again, I was a happy child.

I didn't know it at the time, but that was the start of a truly golden era in Spanish football. The Spanish national team went on to win the 2010 World Cup and Euro 2012, while Spanish club Barcelona won basically everything during that time period as well, all the while playing the mouthwatering style of passing football known as tiki-taka. Suddenly, everyone wanted to play like Spain. Any team that played passing football were said to be following the tiki-taka 'philosophy'. Kids playing football in the park would be exclaiming "Tiki-taka!" whenever they managed to string a few good passes together.

Image courtesy of  worldsoccertalk.com

As for me, I never really was a tiki-taka player. I did admire the beauty and brilliance of it, but I was more suited to direct, counter-attacking football. This caused me a few difficulties whenever I played with my friends, as everyone would want to go tiki-taka while I was the only one looking to launch long balls forward.

Anyway, I digress. Last year, Barcelona were thrashed 7-0 on aggregate in a Champions League semi-final by a Bayern Munich side playing direct, attacking football. This caused people to proclaim that this was the death of tiki-taka, that this tippy-tappy passing lark was no longer relevant as it had finally been 'found out'. This point was reinforced even more after Spain were undone 3-0 by Brazil in the 2013 Confederations Cup final.

However, there were still a good number of people who thought otherwise. Barcelona and Spain would bounce back and be back to sweeping aside all those before them in no time. Tiki-taka would return to being the best way to play winning football.

Those people were proven wrong. Barcelona finished the 2013/14 season without a trophy, while reigning world champions Spain were eliminated from the World Cup after only seven days after limp showings in losses to the Netherlands and Chile. Both these teams played direct, attacking football.

Image courtesy of www.azcentral.com

I was pretty disappointed with Spain's elimination, but truth be told, there was a certain degree of inevitability to it. All good things must come to an end, and all that. Looks like I'll be supporting Croatia and the USA (I was born there; so sue me) for the rest of the World Cup - at least until both teams get dumped out, in which case I'll look to whoever's still left in the tournament.

All in all, it really is the end of Spain's golden era now. Maybe this will signal the start of a new trend of playing: the direct, attacking football that I've always craved. And maybe, if Spain don't adopt this approach, I'll start supporting a team that does. Sounds fickle, I know, but it's not my fault the Malaysian national team is rubbish.

Would be interesting to see which team goes on to dominate the world football scene now.

Revisits.

I finished the final paper of my final exam for the past semester a few days ago, and finally went home after what seemed like forever. I don't remember a time when I wanted to go home so badly, be it during my days in Rembau or in Nilai.

In the days leading up to the exam, my thoughts were dominated by the potential excitement of the next semester. It's going to be a short semester, meaning that we'll be having seven weeks for lectures instead of fourteen. I'll also only be taking two subjects, so that means I will likely have a lot of spare time for other activities - and there will be a lot of those, I'm sure.

However, after the exam began, I started to yearn for home. Some things happened during this time that caused me great distress (although I believe my studying was fortunately not too greatly disrupted) and I realized that I needed to take a break from my university life. I'd gotten so engrossed in it that I'd forgotten that I had other lives outside of Manipal.

So after reaching home, I (finally) watched Frozen (which was amazing, by the way) and spent some quality time with my family. The next day I went with my sister to the city to renew my driver's license and to buy some books using my government-issued book vouchers. We ended up using up all of them plus a little extra cash to purchase eight books. My personal portion of that comprised of five novels. I'll probably finish reading them next year - not because I'm a slow reader, but because I'm not ten anymore and have other things to do besides sitting at home and reading books all day, every day.

That trip to the city took me back to my Foundation days at Nirwana College. Sometimes you just need to revisit the past to remove the clutter in your mind that was caused by the present, and the nostalgia from walking around those familiar streets and riding those familiar trains just seemed to have a calming effect on me. I couldn't remember how long it had been since I last went to KL by train and walked around the streets around Pasar Seni, but it must have been pretty long as I found myself feeling warm and fuzzy inside upon hearing a loud, lengthy car horn. You'd never find anything near to KL's hustle and bustle in Nilai.

I went further along memory lane as I went to the mosque behind my old school for Friday prayers. I could have walked for about 15 minutes to the one nearest to my house, but the pull of the mental and emotional calm I was bound to receive from revisiting the area near my former school was just too great and I ended up driving three to four kilometers to get there. Sure enough, being at that mosque brought back memories of my pre-Rembau secondary school days. They weren't the best years of my life, but I still had plenty of good times then.

Now I have two weeks left for my semester break, which I plan to spend well this time around - reading all those books would be good; I actually even finished one of them on the same day they were bought. Returning to old places for a couple of days was nice, and it certainly helped to unclutter  my mind. However, being only less than 20 years old, there are only so many experiences I can look back on to remind myself of the so-called good old days.

I am a forward-thinking person, and I generally try not to dwell too much on the past. However, I do believe that our past defines who we are, so whenever I do look back on my past, I try to learn from it. And I don't just mean my past mistakes and other painful memories; there's plenty to learn from the good times as well. Some people would rather not analyze their good memories too much, though, for fear of spoiling them. Can't really blame them for that, I suppose.

Yesterday made us who we are today, but today will make us who we are tomorrow. Going down memory lane for a while was nice and all, but I shouldn't stay on it for too long. After that good start to the holidays, here's hoping it will inspire me to be productive during these next two weeks before returning to the grind of life as a student in Nilai.

Either that or I'll end up being so bored that I'll find myself wishing that the short sem would go ahead and start already. Whatever works.

No Title Needed.

I sometimes wonder if anyone actually ever reads the words I write on this blog. I mean, they mostly consist of ramblings regarding whatever's on my mind at the time of writing - it's hardly profound insight.

Other people share links to their blog posts on social media websites. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, as it's natural for a writer to want people to read what they've written. It's pretty much the same as sharing a photo, except a photo - a regular, un-Photoshopped one, anyway - requires less effort to create. People share their photos because they want others to see what they see, while they share blog posts because they want people to see what they think. Or at least as best as they can put those thoughts into words, anyway.

I don't share my blog posts. Heck, people wouldn't even know I had a blog unless they asked (or go looking around the About section of my Facebook profile). The reason for this is because I don't really really want people to read my blog; at the same time, I don't really mind if they do. I write in my blog because I like writing, and if I go for too long without writing something I fear I might lose my touch.

Having said that, I am careful about what I write, because you never know who might read it. I'm not one to stir up controversy, so I don't write about sensitive issues and the like. Furthermore, I seem to have that (apparently rare) ability to separate my thoughts from my emotions, so I don't think I let whatever anger, sadness or happiness that I'm feeling at the time of writing to seep through too much.  I imagine people who know me probably read my words in my trademark monotonous, expressionless voice. Displaying emotions in any form, written or otherwise, can have unwanted repercussions, so why take the risk?

I'm not going to ramble for too long today, although I probably could, thanks to the levels of brain activity my finals are giving me. Yes, my final exams are going on, the first paper of which started today. I should probably go study or something. Until next time, folks.

An Unusual Experience.

It is now the beginning of May, which means that I don't have much time left until my final exams start at the end of May. Only three more weeks or so until what gamers might call the 'final boss battle' for this semester.

The semester's been pretty good so far. I've finished all my assignments except for two group projects, both of which were originally meant to be 75-page research papers but are now regular 15- to 20-page assignments after some 'strategic procrastination' and negotiation with the lecturer. It's just as well that it's the same lecturer who gave out both assignments.

Other than the regular classroom stuff, I've learnt a lot of other things, and had my fair share of new experiences as well. Instead of boring you with all of them, I'd just like to talk about one, fairly unusual incident in particular, which happened yesterday.

It was Labor Day, and nobody had any classes that needed attending. I decided I'd try out an Arabian restaurant near my house in Nilai. Personally speaking, I do enjoy Arab cuisine, and I hadn't had any since I returned to Malaysia from Saudi Arabia at the beginning of the year. Well, as far as I can remember, anyway.

It was going to be my first time eating at the restaurant, so I invited my two Pakistani friends (who were brothers) as they lived in an apartment nearby and regularly frequented the place. We agreed to meet up at the surau in their apartment compound and go to the restaurant together after we were done with Zuhur prayers.

So I went to the surau early, and waited for prayers to commence. Eventually, the bilal performed the iqamah, signalling that the prayers were about to begin. I went up to the front row and was mentally preparing myself when I noticed that there was some kind of commotion going on in front where the imam was supposed to stand.

It appeared that one of my soon-to-be-lunchmates, an 18-year-old, was supposed to be the imam and lead the prayer according to some kind of predetermined schedule, but there was this old man arguing that the person who had the most Qur'anic knowledge was the one most worthy to lead the prayer, and, apparently, he was that person.

My friend just stood there quietly as some of the other folks there started to vocally disagree with the old man, saying that there was already a timetable in place and asking that he not disobey what had been ordered by the head of the surau, who was absent at the time.

The war of words kept getting louder and louder as I looked on with nervous intrigue - never before in my life had I come across a situation like this. It was somewhat frightening while being, at the same time, quite fascinating. This was the only surau or mosque in Malaysia that I had been to that was predominantly run by foreigners, and I wondered if this sort of thing was common in other countries.

After several minutes of arguing and with neither party willing to budge on their viewpoint, the old man just went ahead and started praying. My other Pakistani friend, who had been the one leading the opposition towards the old man's insistence on being the imam, ushered everyone else out of the prayer area, requesting that we not follow him in prayer.

While we waited outside for the old man to finish, I asked my friend, the would-be imam, what on Earth was going on. He went on to explain that this had been going on for some time, and up until that day they had just allowed him to be the imam out of respect for his seniority and to avoid any trouble. It seemed that the executive committee of the surau had just had a meeting the night before to discuss this specific problem. He didn't exactly go on to say what went on during that meeting, but I guess it went along the lines of "stop him; we've had enough".

Soon afterwards, the old man finished praying and we all went inside to perform our prayers like nothing had happened. After we had finished, I asked my friends for further details: who the old man was, exactly how long this had been going on, as well as other things. I got my answers, but based  my friends' reluctant body language I decided that it was best that I held back from asking further questions. We then went out to the Arabian restaurant for lunch as we'd planned, and I had my delicious Mandy Chicken Rice paid for by one of their other friends whom we happened to meet and went on to eat with there.

So the story ends here. For the non-Muslims out there, know that Islam does not condone debate or violence. The religion is perfect, whereas its followers are much less so. No matter how good the law is, there are always going to be people who go against it.

The incident highlighted to me the importance of having knowledge, not just in religious matters, but also in pretty much every other aspect of life. I mean, if something like this were to happen again, and I were to be directly implicated in it, how would I react? How I would I know which side to take, assuming that either side is even correct? Having more Islamic knowledge would certainly assist me in making those decisions.

The same goes for other, non-religious aspects of life. Knowledge is important in helping you to make decisions that won't go on to haunt you and immerse you in deep regret for the rest of your life. As the saying goes, "Knowledge is power."

I am inclined to agree.

Short Story #3.

Once upon a time, a man fell into a hole.

It was a deep hole; dark, too. Exactly how deep and how dark it was in there, he had no idea - what did it matter, anyway? He was in the hole and couldn't get out: that was all he knew and that was all that mattered to him.

He had fallen flat on his face, and he lay that way for a long time. The fall had hurt him, and he feared that some of his bones had been broken. The man just remained still, face in the dirt, with a throbbing pain coursing through his body.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally gathered the strength to pick himself up. His whole body still hurt, but he had learned to live with it now. He tried moving his limbs - thankfully, they all appeared to be intact. Maybe things weren't as bad as he'd first thought.

The man looked around to view his surroundings. Everything was pitch black, however, so it wasn't much use. But at least he now knew how dark the hole was. He still had no idea how deep it was, though, as he couldn't even see the sky - night must had fallen while he was still on his face.

He tried to recall how he had fallen into the hole in the first place. The first thing he distinctly remembered was walking alone through the woods. He couldn't remember why, though - he'd hit his head and his memory hadn't yet returned to him. It would come back in due time, he figured.

The man wondered how he was to get out of this hole. Would anyone notice his disappearance? Was anyone out there looking for him? He didn't remember telling anyone that he was going out for a walk.

He held his arms out in front of him and slowly moved forward, reasoning that he would find a wall soon enough, enabling him to make out just how large the hole was. From there, he might just be able to find some way to escape it.

He'd walked no more than three steps when he felt his foot kick against something. He had no idea what it was, but it didn't feel like a rock. The man crouched to the ground and felt around for it. He hadn't kicked it that hard, so it couldn't have gotten too far.

Sure enough, his hand soon touched something that was unmistakeably metal. Smooth, cold metal. It wasn't very big or heavy, as he managed to wrap his fingers around it and pick it up with ease. What was it?

He brought his other hand towards the object to inspect it with more detail. A hollow cylinder...some kind of nozzle? A small hook...a trigger? Could he possibly be holding a gun in his hands?

It was at that moment that it all came back to him. He knew exactly why he had been walking alone through the woods. He knew exactly why there was a gun in the hole with him - and it wasn't just any gun, it was a revolver. Not just any revolver, either - it was his. And he knew for a fact that his revolver was carrying a single bullet - that was all it needed.

No one was going to come for him. No one cared enough for that. After all, if anyone did care, maybe he would have had help paying for his wife's surgery. Maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe he wouldn't have tracked down that insurance officer and beaten him to death.

He cocked the gun and put its barrel into his mouth. He gently placed his finger on the trigger. This was it. This was how he was going to die - by his own hand, his own gun, in this dark hole, with nobody to see it. Nobody would ever even know.

He suddenly saw something in the corner of his eye - a light? It was coming from above - was it sunlight?

No, it didn't look like sunlight. It was too small; perhaps it was a torchlight? If it really was a torchlight, then surely there was someone was on the end of it?

The man stared at the light - as well as he could, anyway, as it was hurting his eyes - and the light stared right back at him, with neither saying a word. He wasn't about to remove the gun from his mouth now, not when he'd gotten this far. The light didn't seem to make an effort to stop him, either.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished, and the man was in darkness once more. The gun was still in his mouth, his finger still on the trigger. His mind could not comprehend what had just happened. Had the light been some kind of sign? And if so, what did it mean? He was utterly confused.

The questions in the man's head, in the end, boiled down to the two words: what now?

Indeed - what now?

Looking Like A Long Semester.

I was recently given a project to work on for my Financial Accounting class. It's got something to do with how Malaysian banks are helping people to grow financially, and the report has to be at least 75 pages long. It's almost like I'm already in the final year of my degree, when I'm supposed to carry out some kind of research paper.

It's this kind of thing that discourages me from becoming an academic. I mean, to become an actuary I don't need a Master's or a doctorate. Heck, I don't even need a Bachelor's degree - all I need to do is pass the professional papers. Easier said than done, naturally, but right about now it seems preferable to writing a thesis.

In any case, the fact remains that I am currently doing my Bachelor's degree, and I do  have to carry out this project if I want to get a good grade for this subject (which I obviously do). At least it's a group project, so that means I won't have to shoulder all the burden. My partner/classmate seems to have improved herself as a student (read: she's more mature towards work now) since our last semester, too, so that's encouraging.

Anyway, soon after I was given that hefty-looking task, another one came my way: I was elected as interim president of the MIU Business Students' Society. Or at least that's what I would have called it, if the rest of the committee hadn't voted in favor of the name 'Business Edge'.

Well, the club hasn't technically been formed yet. It was supposed to have been a long time ago, but for some reason the people put in charge of preparing the documents required for its formation never got round to preparing them, so now a new committee's been set up to finally get the job done.

So we had a meeting to select this committee, which would also double as the temporary committee for the club itself. Long story made short: I was more or less unanimously picked as president. My classmate, by the way, was made secretary, which would make our current task of preparing all the documents necessary for the official formation of Business Edge a whole lot easier to manage.

Besides that, I also have a video to shoot for my group presentation for my Ethnic Relations class. It's a good thing my groupmates are fairly competent and cooperative, so teamwork shouldn't be too much of a problem. What is a problem, though, is the fact that it has to be in full Malay, which isn't a language any of my other groupmates speak regularly or with much eloquence, and also that our presentation topic needs to be based on something from the subject syllabus, which mainly consists of topics similar to those you'd find in SPM-level History textbooks. History was my third-least favorite subject back in my SPM days, after Bahasa Melayu and Islamic Studies, so I'm obviously less than thrilled about that.

Still, at least I'll be able to create a video - it would be my second time doing this while in Manipal - which is something I genuinely enjoy doing. Obstacles are nothing but challenges, and all that.

It's shaping up to be an interesting semester, especially if you consider the variety (rather than just the sheer volume) of tasks that I'll have to undertake. Sure, it's going to be a long, hard slog, and sure, there will be much frustration. However, I believe that this will be good for me, as I'll have learned plenty by the time it's all over. This is why people go to university: to get a good, all-round education. If I'd simply gone ahead and done the professional papers without getting a formal university education, I would have been deprived of all this.

I love it here. I really do. 

When Inaction is Better.

There are some things better left unsaid. 

“Whoever believes in Allah and the Last Day let him speak good or remain silent.”

Prophet Muhammad (pbuh)

[Bukhari and Muslim]

A friend of mine recently told me that I have a talent for knowing when to say something and when to keep my mouth shut. The extent to which this statement is true (and how serious my friend was when she said it) I may probably never know, but to me it seems that for this to actually be called a talent kind of implies that many other people aren't very good at it.

Being an introvert, keeping my mouth shut comes more naturally to me than it does to others. Growing up, I've never really understood how some people can chatter on and on without so much as stopping to take a breath; personally, even ten to fifteen minutes of non-stop talking exhausts me and prompts me to seek out an excuse to take a break from the conversation. Add in the fact that I tend to speak in, shall we say, 'hushed' tones of a volume so low that I am constantly asked by others to repeat myself and it's clear why I don't talk much.

They say the tongue is sharper than the sword. One can only wonder how many arguments throughout history could have been averted had more people been able to hold themselves back from saying words they knew would be better off unspoken.

There are some moments better left uncaptured. 

Image courtesy of iamlostandfound.wordpress.com

The above image is from the movie The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, one of my favorite movies of all time (just because it was released at the end of last December doesn't mean it's not better than other older movies I've seen). 

In this scene, the guy with the camera, who traveled all the way to Iceland, climbed up a mountain and waited for hours alone in the snow just so he could take a photo of a snow leopard, decides not to do the very thing he came all this way for. Simply because he likes the moment.

In a world that is obsessed with recording every single moment of every single day, as evidenced by the popularity of websites like Twitter and Instagram, it was warming to know that I'm not the only person on Earth who doesn't mind not taking pictures as reminders of a particular moment in time, even though I have the means to do so. Sometimes I just prefer to live in the moment, which might just pass me by during the time it would have taken to whip out a camera and snap a photo.

Some memories are just better off sealed away in the mind, where you are free to relive them at any time you please without limiting yourself to having to view something tangible like a photograph. Indeed, it's as if photographs are losing their value with people taking photos of everything from their breakfast to their own distorted faces.

Kinda makes you wonder if old-timers would reminisce so fondly about 'the good old days' if they had stacks of pictures to remind themselves of those times.

There are some stories better left untold.

In the days following my umrah in Saudi Arabia, I'd planned to write a great deal about the ten days I'd spent in the land of the Prophet. There was so much I'd wanted to say, share and reflect upon. However, travel fatigue prevented me from writing about my trip right away after I'd reached home. Eventually, I got lazy and just didn't feel like writing about umrah even though a part of me wanted me to.

I started to wonder if it was really necessary for me to write a whole post about it. I mean, I'd actually uploaded only two photos from the dozens my family and I had taken while we were there. It showed that, for some reason, even though the trip had been immensely memorable, I didn't feel the need to actually tell people about it - not in its entirety, anyway. Most people who asked me how it went were met with vague, generalized narrations.

In the end, I decided that it was a story that was better off kept to myself. People say that the experience is different for each individual that goes to Makkah, and I couldn't agree more. Indeed, why would I share mine with other people who wouldn't ever be able to relate to it?

I'm sure most people might disagree with this stance, and I'm afraid there's not much I can do about that. But the fact remains that umrah had a profound personal effect on me, and I do not wish to let the experience venture much further from the confines of my memory. Just as I said earlier: some memories are just better off sealed away in the mind. 

The Two Talks.

I wanted to write a good deal on my trip to Saudi Arabia to perform umrah several weeks ago, I really did. I had envisioned myself writing two or three posts on the matter; such was the volume of words in my head that were just begging to be typed out. After all, the ten-day experience was the longest time I'd ever been on foreign soil, if you'll exclude my two months in America after I was born, of course.

But then some things turned up and I had to put off my writing about the trip. Information tends to gradually detach itself from your memory after a while, and it was no different here. As time passed and still nothing got written down, the numerous details that I'd planned on reproducing here got lost in the recesses of my mind.

However, I do still intend on writing at least something. Eventually. It's just after eleven at night as I'm writing this, and I don't intend on forcing my mind to cough up details of Saudi Arabia right about now. I've decided that I'll write it out slowly, bit by bit, and post it once I'm done. Yes, that sounds like a reasonable plan. I am midway through my month-and-a-half-long semester break after all, and currently at home in Ampang rather than in Nilai this whole week.

One thing I would like to write about at the moment, though, is my first visit to Rembau this year a couple of days ago. Note that I used the word 'first' because I expect to be going there again at several other junctures this year, and most definitely at least one more time this month.

Anyway, there were three other guys with me this time around (their names, in the context of this post, don't matter, and it's not like I normally use names on this blog anyway). The purpose of this trip, as far as I knew prior to that day, was to give a talk to the current Form 5 students (i.e. students in their senior year, for those of you unfamiliar with the Malaysian education system) to "share our experiences".

I'd been wondering just which part of my unconventional journey through tertiary education I would be talking about when I was told by the guys who'd come along with me that it was actually supposed to be some sort of motivational talk to get the kids fired up for The Big Exam in November - they'd even prepared a slideshow for the occasion.

Ignoring the fact that it was still only January and that November was ten months away and that any motivation we'd manage to build up would very likely mostly dissipate by the end of the week, I figured I'd just go along with it and give it my best shot.

Before we could talk to the Fivers, though, we were asked to speak to the Form One students (freshmen) first. They'd only been in the school for one week and, according to the teacher who'd asked us to speak to them in the first place, they weren't exactly having the time of their lives there. One kid had even left the same day he came.

The talk was, of course, impromptu, but I think it went well. The four of us talked about why being in an SBP (fully-residential school) was such a great opportunity for them, and why it would be a shame if any of them were to turn it down. I didn't do much talking myself, mostly because I really had no idea what to say and the other guys were already doing pretty well talking about their own SBP experiences, but when I was given the microphone, pretty much all I could talk about was how much I enjoyed playing football during my two years in Rembau.

After that was over, it was time to move on to the main event. We went to the school surau for the talk, where we found our audience already waiting for us. Not an ideal situation, personally speaking, as I usually prefer to get anywhere early so as to not keep others waiting.

So then the talk began and I was first up. The topic I'd been given was something about the competitiveness of the SPM scene, and how more and more people were getting straight A's every year. Sounded simple enough, as all I had to do was tell the kids that they weren't as smart as they thought they were and that there were, in fact, plenty of others out there who were better than them. Or something like that.

I wasn't provided with feedback on my slot afterwards, so I don't know for sure how well I spoke, or to which extent my message got across. What I do know is that if someone had recorded my speech, and I were to watch that recording, I would have hardly recognized myself. I was enthusiastic, I was animated, and I got the crowd going on several occasions. Quite a far cry from my usual monotonous, expressionless, deadpan demeanour.

The two guys who spoke after me (the third was the emcee) were a bit more reserved during their parts of the presentation, as they focused more on substance rather than style. Their approach was more in line with how everyone expected them to talk, rather than my blow-expectations-out-of-the-water effort, and I suppose more fitting with their respective topics.

Hopefully, our little talks with the two batches of students that day were fruitful, especially from their perspective. The results, though, won't be able to be clearly observed until later in the future.

From my own perspective, however, I do believe that I was positively affected by the whole affair. My unexpected performance in the school surau that day has led me to realize that, yes, I am capable of pulling such a thing off. I'd always imagined myself as a charismatic, occasionally funny speaker only for things to ultimately not quite turn out that way, but this time they really did. Sure, I could have done better content-wise, but other than that it was great.

And there I was, thinking that I knew myself. Turns out that you find out new things about yourself all the time, and I certainly did on this occasion. Here's hoping than I can put my newfound speaking capabilities to good use in the future.

The Classmate.

Many a time have I come across an abandoned blog: it may have contained a good number of posts from the past before its owner abruptly stopped posting in it for one reason or another; or it may have contained only a few posts, suggesting that the blog was nothing more than a mere flight of fancy for its author.

I, for one, intend to keep this blog alive by posting at least one entry every month. I don't know how many people actually read this blog, and I thank you if you do, but writing here is in fact more towards my own benefit rather than that of others. This arrangement ensures that I write something, anything, at least once a month so that my writing skills don't gradually fade to black.

Now, having said that, you may notice that I posted exactly zero posts in the month of December. There are reasons for that, and the short version is that I was a bit busy.

"I was a bit busy" is, of course, an understatement, but "a bit" is shorter than "terribly", "horrendously" and other words that would have described my situation during the month more accurately.

During the first three weeks of December, I was struggling to finish my second semester at Manipal. Unlike the previous semester, most of the work was done in the closing weeks instead of being evenly spread throughout. My solitary classmate and I were practically swamped with tests, assignments and replacement classes during this semester's final two or three weeks alone after relatively kicking our heels since day one. Indeed, some of the assignments were completed so late that they were handed in during final exams week.

Never before had I come across such a hectic end to a semester, which wasn't helped by the fact that my classmate, and only companion to share in this particular adversity, wasn't exactly a dream partner whom I could trust to perform excellently during groupwork, or at least do a decent enough job with it. Maybe I just expect too much from her, I don't know.

We had a kind of heart-to-heart session one afternoon, after she missed a crucial day of class due to some personal problems. I guess we kind of understand each other a little better now, and I at least get why she is who she is as a student. That doesn't mean that she has to stay that way, however.

The good news is that we still have two more years together, and there's plenty of time for both of us to improve. The bad news, though, is that it's only going to get tougher from here on out, so that improvement has to increase at an exponential rate.

Anyhow, we both somehow managed to complete all our tests and assignments on time. We then grappled with our six final exam papers, which were, to make another understatement, a bit difficult. Once again, we made it through, although the two of us carried different emotions right after the end of the final paper: I was happy that our ordeal was finally over whereas she was deflated - maybe she felt that she hadn't done all that well, I suppose. However, being the little ray of sunshine that I am (a statement which may seem odd to some people who know me, I know), I told her to lighten up as what's been done has been done, and there was nothing we could do about it anyway.

Later that day, we went along with a bunch of other students from the university on a trip to an Indian orphanage in Rembau. We'd both been there before, albeit on separate occasions. During my first visit there, I had gone in a baju melayu. That didn't stop some of the kids there from trying to communicate with me in Tamil, however. It was probably the first instance in my life where someone had mistaken me for an Indian.

Some of us were given so-called mentees for a one-hour mentoring session, and mine was a 17-year-old boy. That was just as well, as I'd have no idea what to do if my mentee had been a much younger kid. I'm not really the type that could host one of those kids' shows on television.

As I talked with the boy, I discovered that he was a true gem. He had been adopted years ago by a pair of New Zealanders, both of whom were engineers and travelled the world a lot. They had once sent him to some sort of programming course in their home country for about three months, and now he could hack into computer systems and stuff like that. He harbored dreams of becoming a biomedical engineer; I didn't even know what that was. What I did know was that this kid was exceedingly intelligent and had vast potential. I even found myself slightly intimidated by this realization.

Not knowing how to handle his overwhelming passion of engineering, a subject which I generally have next to no interest in, I called a university-mate, who was an engineering student and happened to be passing by, to come help me out and talk about the subject with him. Needless to say, I was little more than a spectator after that. The two of them even exchanged email addresses and other contact details after that, so the mentorship of the boy had effectively been transferred. 

On the way back to Nilai after all that was over, I briefly sat next to my classmate on the bus (I say briefly because the person sitting next to me kept changing every now and then). She was in a much brighter mood than she had been in earlier that day, and told me that she'd found it difficult to leave the kids and the orphanage behind. I felt a bit smug upon hearing this, as she'd initially not wanted to go and had only gone because her best friend had asked her to. I had helped to secure her seat on the bus.

Anyway, our third semester starts in February, which means that I have the whole month of January off. I'd asked my classmate to teach me Tamil during that time - she'd actually agreed to do it at first after I told her that I'd buy her lunch after every class as payment. This arrangement would be good for the both of us, as I'd be learning a new language and she'd be working on her presentation skills, which I must say are in dire need of an upgrade. She'd told me that she would be spending her time getting bored to death at home anyway, so why not, I figured. However, some stuff turned up with her family and she won't really be free this month after all, so the plan had to be cancelled. Guess I won't be seeing her until February, then.

The start of my third semester will mark the beginning of my second year at Manipal. I hope to make it a good one, even better than my first.

Oh, I haven't talked about what I did in the second half of December yet. Well, I went for umrah, which will be detailed in another post (or two). Until then, this is me signing off. Happy belated new year, people.